


As It Happens

by missbeizy



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 08:58:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2767268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Give Sean the answer and he'll explain the question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As It Happens

It happens.

And I have to explain why it happens, because if I don't—if I let the silence sink in—the guilt will come in with it—the what's and why's and how's—and deep down those things just don't matter, even if they do hurt. Because it happens for perfectly natural reasons and within a space that is consumed by borders of why-this-occurs. Because blame is sticky-dark and doesn't wash off and I can't.

It happens because we're in Middle Earth. (I can't remember what California feels like.) The air here has altered me by way of my lungs and I can't think of breathing anything else. It's nearly the same as the catch in my chest when he's standing just to my right.

It happens because I feel too much and see too much and offer too much. I cracked down the center and had all the gooey wealth of my insides exposed in a hotel lobby in California when that messy-haired five feet and six inches of insanity came barreling at me with all the intensity and persistence of a bullet. I see too much because he's always there and it's always us or me-watching-over-him and because I'm not terribly good at looking away. I offer too much because that's my chosen path to love and because it creates a warmth inside me.

It happens because he's everything I expected him to be—with a liquid, cherry center of everything else that I could have never, ever prepared myself for. And they say it's the beauty and the eyes, but honestly, those are just surface tremors when compared to the earthquake that is the rest of him. In the end, I guess, it's the fact that the beauty and personality exist in the same individual that is the most scandalous.

 

He's lost his keys for the second time this week. And his fingers tap out my number on his cell-phone before he actually thinks about calling me. There are moments when it makes me feel like a mother, when I see his name on the caller ID next to my bedroom phone, when I know he's calling me because something has gone wrong. But most of the time it makes my chest feel very full.

"Hello?"

"Sean? You asleep?"

"Yeah," I answer, clearing my throat and voice of sleep as best I can.

"I didn't leave my keys in your car, by any chance, did I?" he asks, sounding apologetic.

"Don't think so," I say, feeling the déjà vu, because we've had this conversation before, and also smiling, because I know what's coming and I can see the furrow of God-I-must-be-such-a-bother between his eyebrows.

"Could you…?"

"I'll look around. Call you back in five?"

"Thanks, man."

"No problem."

It should be strange climbing out of bed and pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt to search my living room and car for someone else's keys. But it's not. And come to think of it, it wasn't even strange the first time it happened. 

I find the glittery, cold jumble of keys on the driveway near the car, just next to the passenger side door. Smiling, I pocket them, and straighten out my own keys while sinking into the driver's seat and starting up the engine. The world is a silent, cold blue-black all around me and I feel as if it's pressing down on the outside of the car.

My head's sort of floating with waking up from the temperature and the odd rumble of the car under my body that was relaxed in sleep ten minutes before. For a few seconds, it seems truly unreal, and I watch myself in the third person—how insane he looks, this guy sloppily dressed with sleep in his eyes, going to his co-star's house on what is no more than an errand-favor. How thoroughly unglamorous. 

But it can't be any other way, can it? And if you were to ask me to tell you why in a phrase or two, I couldn't.

He's curled up knees-to-chest outside his door when I pull my car into his driveway. Already toting a huge smile, I feel his presence slide firmly under my skin, and it touches me in different ways—making my head fill up with empty noise, making my body warm, making me feel self-conscious.

The night all around is heavy and cold in a way that only the late hour can make it. I feel for a silly second that we're the only two people in the whole of New Zealand. The silence seems to extend straight through to every house and street around us.

The moonlight illuminates vast patches of space in contrast to the dark corners and shadows where it can't go. And, sure, I notice it on my arms, and I've always sort of liked that, how it changes your skin's tone and makes you feel different. But what it does to him? Fuck, you just cannot compare. He literally glows in the dark, with his hair all in different directions, sweater sleeves tugged down around his hands and several cigarette butts littering the ground at his sneaker-covered feet.

He hops up as soon as I kill the engine, jogging his little boy jog over to my side of the car and tackling me, throwing his arms around my neck. I've lost track of how many times he's greeted me this way.

"You're completely insane! You didn't have to…"

"Tssch, it's nothing. I was already so awake that I figured what the hell."

"Come inside? It's freezing." He tugs my sleeve and takes a step towards the house.

My hesitation is embarrassing in that every-day way. "It's late…"

"Exactly," he says. "We've only got a few hours before our call anyway. Crash here." 

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he says, to the tune of _duh, you big insane type person_ , and hangs on my sleeve all the way into the warmth of the house.

I'm not thinking much about this as I file in behind him. Sort of numb to these things until after they happen and tonight's no exception. I watch the silver lump of keys wink at me even after I can't see him in the dark—he's gone down the hall to change. 

Shrugging my jacket off, I wander towards the living room. The house is still tinged with the feel of having not been occupied for a full day. There are no lights on, so everything is blue-black just like the outside, only there's more black than blue because of the half-drawn curtains on every window. It feels as quiet and isolated as the driveway.

I lapse into third person again—and in that frame of mind, things come to me that maybe wouldn't if I was still thinking narrowly. Thinking that way, I can see all the setup for a night that holds promise. Things happen in moonlit, near-empty houses when two people who react strongly to each other are alone. When those people are tired and unguarded at the end of the day, when they're maybe a little cold and a little lonely and a little in tune to each other. When the married person's wife is visiting family back home for the next two weeks. 

_It's like a movie_ , I think, and then I lapse back.

But that's just an excuse, isn't it? Because I started having _those thoughts_ the moment I heard his boyish voice on the phone. Gathered strength all through the drive. And consequently seeing him and touching him kept it rolling. The aloneness is just an excuse for the fact that I've never been able to control my thoughts about Elijah when he and I are together like this.

_So it is your fault_ , I accuse myself, and I accept that. But accepting it doesn't make it stop. In fact, it just may make it worse.

Elijah comes back, sweat-pants and t-shirt clad, and falls over onto his couch.

_Yeah_ , I think. _Makes it worse_.

A slow inhale and a quick redirection of my eyes away from his body and I'm in the armchair just to the side of the couch, watching him fiddle with the buttons of the small stereo on the end table. 

We sit in mutually enjoyable silence for a while. Elijah flicks a CD case at me and it hits me in the middle. Blinking, I look at it.

"Yours," he explains.

"Ah."

"Christine call?"

"This afternoon."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She's gonna stay the full two weeks. Take Alex shopping. Girl time, she says."

He sprawls out on his stomach, smiling at that, hooking the fronts of his ankles over the far armrest of the couch, white-socked toes making slow, idle curls before settling. Why the image is sexual to me, I have no idea. Then there's the way his ankles move and the way his sweatpants sink around his calves and the way the cloth tightens over his backside—and I feel myself gradually forgetting what I was saying.

"We should get some sleep," I say, trying at least to keep my surface thoughts hidden.

"We should," he agrees, but he doesn't move.

The music coming from the stereo is surprisingly low—I can't even make out what it is, exactly, besides the fact that it has a hard bass line. The beat-and-silence combination goes on for a while longer. When he finally pops up and disturbs the stillness, I'm startled.

"Get some blankets," he murmurs, and disappears again into the hall.

I push all the air out of my lungs, force myself to look away from his retreating form, and lay my head back against the chair. When he appears again with an armful of blankets and a couple pillows, I move to help. Together we sort out the bedding. 

He grabs a hold of the blanket on one corner and I accidentally take the other—tugging at the same moment. Grinning, he tugs back. I look up at him, which I was trying very hard not to do, because of the heart-shaped, shocking beauty of his face and how his eyes wink like shiny black marbles in the darkness of the room. I could stare for hours at his boyish cheeks, the pink smudge of his mouth, and the way his eyelashes cast half-moon shadows down his face. _Frightened longing_.

When Elijah Wood blushes, it's all at once; the blood comes up and softly floods his face and neck like watery, carnation-pink ink. And I'm so distracted by it that I forget to wonder why he's blushing.

Grinning back at him, I tug the blanket.

"Gimme."

(How long has it taken for me to fall back to acting like a teenager? The boys demand it with the way they act, and I'm dragged along with it, all the while thinking I'll never be able to act cool enough for them, and yet here I am, acting just the way they do. I sort of love them for it.)

He yanks back.

"You're the guest. I'll do it."

"Elijah." 

Tug.

" _Sean_." 

Tug tug.

Giggling, he tosses the sheet up suddenly around my head and shoulders and drags me forward with it. Scrambling and disoriented in the sudden second layer of darkness, I flop over onto the couch and he falls next to me. Smirking, he lifts the sheet and peeks at me over its edge.

"Where are the cat-like reflexes, Mister Hobbit?" he asks, left eyebrow up, sheet over the lower half of his face, all teasing.

"You're the kitten here," I blurt out.

_Ah, fuck_.

The other eyebrow goes up along with an incredulous expression.

" _What_?" I ask, trying to sound defensive.

"Right," he says, dropping the sheet entirely and falling across my lap. 

As usual, I sit back; watching him and making sure my hands don't touch him. He treats me exactly as he would treat Billy or Dom or Orli, and I like that. I'd love to return the affection the way the other guys do. But I know that if I were to start doing that, it would be a lie, from the off. Because touching him is so much more than a friendly gesture and I don't think I could hide that. 

Oh, but staring? Staring is another thing entirely. Staring has taken on a new meaning in the past six months. I just may have perfected it. 

I move my hand from where it's sunk into the couch cushion and my fingers brush the top of his head accidentally. His eyes are closed and he tilts his head a bit, bringing my hand further against the spot. Lightly I pet back the ruffled hair, noticing that his scalp is very hot. 

"You okay?" I ask.

Daddy Astin, yep. That's me. Paternal. Dad. Father type figure with the—

Okay. Not working. Note to self: get new angle.

"Mm." 

Which is a yes, right?

"You have a fever? You're hot."

"Mm-mm."

It's my turn to raise an eyebrow this time.

"Elijah…"

"Yeees?"

"You're weird."

He giggles again.

"Thanks," he mutters, and his voice is sort of husky. His face turns in the direction of my stomach.

It's annoying how aware I become of my breathing. Of the movement that it makes in my stomach and chest; of how I can't seem to sit still when I need to sit still or otherwise I'd go bumping against parts of him that I just can't afford to get familiar with. And becoming aware of all that and trying to stop the reaction that follows only makes it more obvious. Which is sort of the ultimate kick in the ass, when you think about it.

My fingers keep lightly moving over the same spot on his head, no doubt annoying him, but I feel trapped and bound by the repetitiveness of the motion. Subtly, after steeling myself against a thump of heartbeat, I splay my palm just a little farther, pushing the pieces of hair back from his forehead.

His eyes are closed and the blush is happening again—that sudden, obvious highlight of pink now bordering on red. I see a tiny tick of muscle in his forehead and then near the corners of his eyes and his eyelids tremble before he tucks his cheek firmly against my sweatshirt. His skin is still fevered against my fingertips. 

_Think._

_No. Go away. It's a protective thing. I mean, I'm allowed—_

_Think!_

_Damnit. ___

__I lower my hand back to the couch after shifting all the hair back away from where it flopped. He shifts around sleepily, as if already dozing, though the tense awareness in him is obvious and I know he's no where near sleep._ _

__"Feels nice," he breathes._ _

___Shit_._ _

__Feeling stupid, I lift my hand again, stroking over already memorized paths. Praying his eyes stay closed because I can't resist looking now. Staring intently and wishing there was more light so I could see the color in his cheeks better. Shivering slowly from the sensation that goes up through the pads of my fingertips._ _

__Near his brow again, I pause, and watch disconnectedly as my fingers pass along the ridge there and smooth down an eyebrow. His chest rises with a slow breath; and he has the stillness of a cat before it starts to purr; and I begin to lose all sense of conscious control._ _

__There's a tiny patch of very soft skin to the side of his eye. I have a brief love affair with it, turning feather-light circles there before daring to sweep an arch along the side of his cheek._ _

__And then I realize that I'm shaking and _what the hell am I doing_ and the urge to think comes over me again. _ _

__Just as three of my fingertips have come to rest on the upward curve of his cheek, his eyes open. I get caught in the split-second of eye contact that we share; that wet, needy gaze of his shooting barbs straight through to the center of me. A second later the look is gone and he's just plainly staring, but my shaking redoubles anyway and panic floods in with it and suddenly I need to be far, far away from him._ _

__"I—I need to—" My body begins to squirm, hands and feet trying to find holds to hoist myself up and out of this house. _He fucking knows. God, how else_ —but do I really think that? Not so sure now._ _

__"What's wrong?" Rushed, worried, and the spell is broken, because the sleepy kitten is replaced by a very, very real Elijah, who isn't helping much by refusing to move._ _

__"Can't do this," I mumble, and he sits up finally, but instead of bolting I sit forward on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, shoulders hunched._ _

__Out of the corner of my eye I see him run a hand through his hair. Some of the pink fades from his brow and he scoots to the edge of the couch with me, looking guilty and disappointed and beautiful._ _

__"'M'sorry, Sean, I—yeah. Forget it."_ _

__"It's okay." Mumbled again. It doesn't matter whether I mean that or not, because I don't know what I'm declaring okay in the first place. I'm frozen where I sit._ _

__He looks at me for a long moment; I'm forced to look back. I start to say something, then stop, and finally settle for bracing myself. Something knotted and pulsing does a flop in my chest._ _

___I don't want to go…_ _ _

___Please stay with me._ _ _

___God, I can't. There are eight million reasons why I can't…_ _ _

___Need you, Sean._ _ _

___You always need me, Elijah._ _ _

___It aches at night, Sean._ _ _

___I know._ _ _

___It aches all over. Please…_ _ _

__Blinking, I break the eye contact, panic and trembling now firmly settled in my stomach._ _

__Is it about comfort? Is it the sturdy person he sees me as that makes him cling the way he does? Does he know that when we brush like this that I can't breathe?_ _

__"You left your keys on purpose."_ _

__Silence._ _

__"And last Friday. You locked yourself out. You knew I'd be there."_ _

__Anxious shift from his side of the couch._ _

__"I didn't know how else to—"_ _

__"To what? Corner me? Christ, Elijah, we're together all day long."_ _

__I stand, feeling indignant, and that's good—I can avoid everything else. And the fact that I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to be angry about makes it easy to be vague and not care one bit._ _

___What are we talking about?_ _ _

___Damned if I know_._ _

__So I look at him but I don't let myself see him. If I did that, my heart would break around the gentle sadness and the youth in him. He sighs, chews his lip, and stares at the coffee table._ _

__"Won't happen again," he says very quietly, and I feel terrible._ _

___But it's not—I mean, I'm not saying…_ _ _

___Well, what else would he think you're saying, you moron?_ _ _

___I'm scared of this. I don't know what else to say._ _ _

__And on a swell of strength and numbness I decide that I'm going to leave. I grab my jacket, sidestep the coffee table, and stick a hand into my pocket to grip my keys. He says nothing and does nothing and the leaving makes me dizzy and fills me with regret._ _

__I barely hear the door close behind me. I stand there in the New Zealand nighttime, shaking and nervous, cold and hot—torn between the warm promise of the house behind me and the empty drive back home._ _

__It processes in my mind that I'm on the sharp and narrow edge between two radical decisions. One string of steps in either direction will take me to two very different ends. I feel unstable enough to lunge for the car and drive off in a rage. I feel unstable enough to kick the door in and grab him. Both are exaggerations of the discomfort (excitement) my feelings for him cause me._ _

__So I stand there, letting the cold in deeply through my nostrils, and waiting for the anxious need to make a decision go away. It gets better, a little, when I put it all in perspective._ _

__But it doesn't make going or staying any easier._ _

__The door opens—a single, soft creak from its hinges falls on me like a shiver, though it feels as if it's miles behind me—and I hear him come up behind me, stepping lightly. I close my eyes, dreading whatever he has to say. Frightened that if we actually put into words what has always been there silent between us, that I'll crumble._ _

__Hands in the pockets of a hastily thrown on sweatshirt, he comes to a stop in front of me, head bowed against the breeze._ _

__"You must think I'm even more immature now."_ _

__I chuckle. Can't help it. Because I should think that, really. But I don't._ _

__"Never thought you were immature to begin with."_ _

__I can't look at him. The line between my two options keeps getting more and more threadbare. I can feel the itch in my hands now to reach out and touch him._ _

__"Forget this," he says; and his tone is casual and plain to balance out the serious weight behind the words. "It's a waste of your time to worry about it."_ _

__Meaning: _Whatever feelings I have for you are unimportant when put up in comparison to the life you already have_. The shear honesty in him makes me feel worse. And there it is again, that attempt to be decades older and more responsible than he should have to be. That thing that only captivates me more. That thing that makes me want to burrow further into his head._ _

__"If you mean what you're saying, then that's it. I mean. The visits, the extra stuff. The nights...the—" _Am I actually saying this?__ _

__"I know."_ _

__"Why is this coming up now?"_ _

__"It's…getting harder."_ _

__I sigh. Outwardly it's all silence but inwardly my brain pounces on those four words and tears them apart looking for clues or meaning or indication. And if I were to follow that through to the end, it would take me to a place that I've never been. So I stop._ _

__"Didn't want this for us."_ _

__"Neither did I," he says, scuffing his toe against the line between two cement blocks._ _

__"We can't. Avoid this, I mean. The time we spend together is only going to double—"_ _

__"I've thought plenty about it, Sean."_ _

__"It's not just—"_ _

__"I know. If it was just that, we could take it out on other people."_ _

__"But you can't." Flat, but also implying a further explanation is wanted._ _

__"I've tried," he says, darting a look up at me and then quickly away again._ _

__I'm not going to ask with whom he's tried it. I don't want to know. But images come anyway: Billy's hands around Elijah's waist, Dom's mouth on Elijah's neck, Orlando's legs tangled with Elijah's. It could be any one of them. I definitely don't want to know._ _

__I exhale slowly._ _

__"This is…"_ _

__"Too fucking much."_ _

__"Yeah." Another exhale._ _

__He takes a step forward. I can feel his body heat and that's enough to set the warning bells off. I look at him and the whole of what he is tumbles cartwheels all up and down my center._ _

__"Ever think about it?" he asks softly, his large eyes on mine taking a gradual path downward that stops dead on my mouth._ _

__I say yes, but nothing comes out. So I clear my throat and try again._ _

__"Yes." Low, barely audible—an attempt at clarity. My breathing has stopped working correctly again; can't possibly stay steady when he's looking at me like this. A violent trembling takes over my thoughts more than my body and I'm struck by it, wondering if I even have the strength to step away again._ _

__"Kind of fucked up to end something…that never started." Inch closer. "Don't you think?"_ _

___Shiiit_._ _

__"What do you think about?" he asks, and his breath is on my mouth, and I just realize now that my eyes are closed._ _

__"I… Lijah—"_ _

__And when there's just breath and air and the blinding dark behind your eyelids, you can say pretty much anything. The inches of space and reason that seem to form a complete barrier between one thing and the next become unimportant. There's nothing at all to simply leaning forward and letting the consuming urge melt upwards from your toes to your hair._ _

__I open my eyes and we're toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye. _Shocks like electricity, subsumed under layers of skin, tripping and stumbling, opposing rhythms of heartbeat, one chasing the other frantically—wait for me—and it's funny how it can be that fucking much and it doesn't show at all_._ _

__If he says something, this is going to shatter. I know that. I know he won't._ _

__I see him start that split-second motion forwards and I inhale deeply, my personal space sweetly invaded—closer-closer-too _close_. I let my eyes close again._ _

__Break it down: three parts to it. Top lip, breathy warm void, and bottom lip—parted mouth. I feel it disturb the space in front of my mouth before I feel it _on_ my mouth. And it touches a moment later, softly brushing back and forth, whispering its secrets and promises left to right, right to left in a graze so perfectly placed that it sends more tingling down my body than anything else he could've done._ _

__My mouth parts in response, though I can't move. My fingers are trembling noticeably at my sides. And it feels awfully lame of us, standing there with just our mouths pressing, like little boys sneaking time behind the slide at recess._ _

__His top lip is between my lips, and the empty space that was his parted mouth closes in a soft, slow kiss, my bottom lip caught between his. There's the lightest noise of suction when the kiss completes itself—my lips closing around his top lip in a pucker._ _

__Pause. _Oh God_. Low noise; quick breath; again. More sure this time, our lips pushing further into the space between parted lips. Like a shock through the experience I feel a sudden freezing touch on either cheek and I realize he's brought his cold palms up to cup either side of my face. _Oh God_. _ _

__Something dangerous and explosive snowballs down my spine, gathering force._ _

__His mouth is small and delicate and I can feel the fear in him and the hesitation. He probably expected to be smacked from the moment he stepped towards me._ _

__He pulls back a bit and when he sinks forward again, I feel the slow, sensual tickle of his tongue fill the space between my lips—a mesmerizing imitation of a thrust: in and out, achingly slow. _Oh God_. I can feel the ghostly disturbance of his eyelashes._ _

__The column of tongue retreats, drawing a soft lick just along the inside of my upper lip—the jagged pleasure trickles down the back of my neck—and he seals the gesture with a kiss—a slow-motion kiss for a slow-motion moment. _Oh God_._ _

__The world comes to a grinding halt when I feel the wet pressure of his mouth lift. I stand there, fingernails digging into my palms, so unsettled that I have no doubt I'm a moment away from falling over._ _

__I open my eyes again. His are still closed. He hovers there where he is. The dampness on his bottom lip shines in the light of the moon and there are red blotches across his cheeks and nose and forehead. I watch him swallow slowly. He licks his bottom lip— _Oh God_ —and I realize his hands have fallen to my shoulders._ _

__He opens his eyes, letting out a pent-up breath. We stare at each other, chests rising unevenly, drawn to the sight of each other's mouths again, obsessed with the barest remainder of the kiss there—dampness, pink shading round the lips._ _

__If this were a fairy tale or a movie, my next cue would be to wrap my arms around him or cup his face in my hands or drag him in for another, more thorough kiss. But this isn't scripted and it isn't perfect. I'm numb and devastated and worried and madly in love with what has happened. _Complication_._ _

__"I'm…going to—"_ _

__He nods quickly as we take half steps back away from each other— _unsettled_. _ _

__"You should."_ _

__"Feet tomorrow. We'll talk before the set call?"_ _

__Another nod; breathy, nervous, accommodating, still recovering. "Yeah."_ _

__My only thought on the drive home:_ _

__I won't feel a single goddamn thing until I'm with him again._ _

__

__I stare at the clock above the television set in the makeup trailer, watching the second hand go around. Elijah's right in front of me getting his feet put on and I've declared silently that we've been here for approximately eight days._ _

__At the rate we're going, though, we'll have maybe twenty minutes to bum around the Hobbit trailer before cameras roll. Elijah usually goes over his rewrites or listens to music. Dom and Billy mess around outside if the day's warm and I'll read a book._ _

__I sit as patiently as possible through the application of the hairnets and the low whoosh of the airbrushes. When we're finally through, we file out in order: Elijah, me, Billy, Dom. Billy and Dom make a dash for Viggo's trailer and I smile at Elijah, bumping our arms together._ _

__"Trailer?"_ _

__"Yeah."_ _

__His expression is the same as any morning. But there's a rawness behind it that goes very far in reminding me about last night._ _

__A passing tech crew woman calls out to us: "Half hour, guys." We nod back._ _

__I peek in the left trailer door real fast—Ian's gone already. Giving Elijah a wave, I slip in through the door and he follows. I flop into one of the chairs in front of the mirrors and he carefully reclines on one opposite me, smoothing his Elven cloak out._ _

__And I think, then, that it's true—I _haven't_ felt a thing since last night. Every second of time between then and now has felt like sleepwalking. It falls into place like tangible slices of life when the two of us are together. Just fucking flows…and I can't picture living without that._ _

__He rotates his chair back and forth, paddling foam toes on the floor._ _

__"Know what you're going to say."_ _

__I raise an eyebrow, feeling a Sam curl poke my eyelash. Brushing it back, I tilt my head._ _

__"'S'that so?"_ _

__He shrugs._ _

__"I guess I wanted to. I dunno. Do it before the option to do it wasn't there."_ _

__"Is that why you did it?"_ _

__He smiles an elusive you-know-what-I-mean kind of Elwood smile._ _

__"I did it because I wanted to," he informs carefully, patting the side of my calf with his Hobbit toe, chin in the air. _If I look you in the eye and smile, we can make this normal_._ _

__I watch him silently._ _

__"However." He takes a slow breath. "If you think I shouldn't do it again…"_ _

__Well, that's the whole crux of it, then, isn't it? It's also the one thing I haven't been able to approach yet. The hell do I say to that? I try to picture the one side: my wife, my daughter, and my house in California. I switch over—Elijah, New Zealand, all the directing and script-writing and party-having he and I have planned for after the shooting._ _

__The conflict burns just to the right of where my heart is. And yet it's somehow not dramatic or looming in the way I guess it should be. I'm not as frightened as I was before Elijah kissed me, and I try to sort out why. Doesn't seem to make sense, really._ _

___Of course it does. Makes sense because that made your decision for you, didn't it?_ _ _

___Huh?_ _ _

___Kissing you. You knew the second it happened you'd never be able to give it up._ _ _

___I did not._ _ _

___Liar._ _ _

___Fuck you!_ _ _

___Hey, I'm just your subconscious, buddy._ _ _

__But the thought _does_ make sense. My insides are all quiet and so is my brain—and they shouldn't be that way. I'm not thinking of a refusal to give him. I'm not working up to a careful letting-him-down-scenario. It's an assumption that we've already gone too far—stopping would cause a crash and burn that would hurt more people than just Christine or me. _ _

__It's an extension of the practical reality that he and I, taken on our own and apart from all others, have something very, very complicated. And denying that would only make it harder to avoid._ _

___Lovely, psychoanalytical way of writing off adultery as a-okay, Astin._ _ _

___Didn't I tell you to shut up?_ _ _

__I sigh; at the same time, I feel the hurt already starting. I can see Christine so clearly against different backgrounds—white sheets, kitchen wallpaper, blue sky, couch in the living room. She saturates all those places and events that have dominated the last nine years of my life. I hate it when she cries. I hate it when she's upset and I can't do a damned thing to make it better. I've never caused her significant pain in our whole life together and I don't know how the guilt of doing that would effect me._ _

__Alex, well—she's a baby, and children can accept things easier than adults can. I don't worry too much about her, because I've already sworn that no matter where life takes me, it will never be too far away to hold her close._ _

__It's my marriage that's the main conflict. Yes._ _

__I look up at Elijah after this careful process is settled. Tiny twinge happens just at the base of my throat while looking at him._ _

___But why does he count for nothing?_ _ _

___What?_ _ _

___Why does he have to shrink up and become meaningless simply because you're married?_ _ _

___Well. There's the whole until-death-do-us-part-forsaking-all-others-thing._ _ _

___Overdone cliches._ _ _

___Really? Fucking cruel, that is._ _ _

___Think deep, Astin. Come on. All that fidelity shit applies to couples who are happy to be monogamous and only for as long as they stay interested solely in each other. The minute something else comes up? Divorce. Nothing wrong with it._ _ _

___Bullshit. I believe in the concept of a happy family. Weak people betray that._ _ _

___Weak people ignore new emotion that leaves them breathless and dizzy. Weak people refuse to acknowledge when they have changed. Weak people turn their backs on something that may redirect the entire course of their lives._ _ _

__Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply._ _

___Where is the line, Sean? When does selflessness become stupidity? When does the life you live become the property and contingency of others so much that it's not even yours anymore?_ _ _

__My subconscious plays both sides._ _

__The far right door of the trailer opens, spilling sunlight neatly through._ _

__"Let's go, guys. Transport's here."_ _

__Elijah looks at me, smiles, and then stands carefully, fixing his costume._ _

__"Later," he says, with an _it can wait_ sort of emphasis, and he loops an arm around my lower back. He's already letting Frodo out—I can see that odd gleam in his eye. It's a comfort—an out of place one, really, for the situation—but a comfort nonetheless._ _

__

__That night, we're at a club. I go because I want to talk to Elijah, though I have no idea what either of us can possibly say, and it's just a matter of doing the talking to make it seem like we're sorting things. So I go, even though I don't dance—well, not club dancing, anyway._ _

__It's the four Hobbits tonight, which is just slightly off because of the missing, automatic "andOrli" suffix, but Orli's off with the Men tonight, and this is Billy's favorite club, besides._ _

__I feel bad right away, because Elijah isn't dancing nearly as much as he normally would. He keeps shooting back to the table between songs, abandoning the random guys and girls that he's snagged for that moment to come back and check on me or bring me a drink._ _

__The last time he breaks away, he falls into the booth next to me, hands all in my lap and head on my shoulder, the smell of alcohol on his breath mixing with cloves and cologne to get my attention through the hazy dimness of the place._ _

__"Back," he heaves with effort, seeming to relax into me, unaware of how his closeness makes me react. He sits back, bobbing his head to the loud, piercing lyrics of the song that's playing, looking like a little boy as he makes faces along to them._ _

__I raise an eyebrow. "What in the world is this song?"_ _

__"I think it's called 'Gay Bar.'"_ _

__"…Right."_ _

__"You're a superstar…at the gay bar!"_ _

__I laugh, eyeing him as he sings the lyrics pointedly at me and then comes to a dead stop when I look up. He cracks a mad grin, then waggles his head to the music, hair flopping._ _

__"…I wanna spend all yah money…"_ _

__I look at him again and his voice drops significantly._ _

__"…at the gay bar…!" he whispers, and tries to look intimidated as I reach over and tug his hair._ _

__"Hey!"_ _

__Smiling, I smooth the piece of hair back over his ear. He collapses into a similar beaming sort of smile, probably glad that I'm still feeling the urge to do that, and leans forward on his elbows, head low on his shoulders._ _

___Now that should be awkward_._ _

__And I mentally slap my hand away, forcing my eyes out onto the dance floor._ _

__Through the mesh of black-tinted color that makes up the writhing crowd I spot Billy and Dom. They work their way into an open patch of floor, probably because people around them stop to look at them and inadvertently give them space. The way they move together is uncanny and I just cannot picture myself swiveling and gyrating like that._ _

__But I'm drawn to the way they might as well be having sex standing up—or at least that's what the dancing looks like from across the room. Dom's got Billy from behind, hands shoved into the front pockets of Billy's jeans, one thigh trapped between Billy's, and all their parts move simultaneously to the rhythm._ _

__Dom's fingers draw slow curls deep in Billy's pockets. Billy grinds to the beat slow and hard and I notice that at the end of each rock of his pelvis he shudders—Dom's knee driving harder between his legs. Dom's mouth is on Billy's ear, then his throat, and I can see his lips moving—private, sexual things, no doubt spewing easily from him._ _

__And for the first time I realize how damned attractive they are. Not in relation to myself, of course—because Elijah's the only one to bring that up in me—but attractive in the way that they come together. Attractive and new, especially to me, because my view on men and sexuality and what is alluring has obviously changed in the last six months. I've only just begun to believe how little gender matters._ _

__Dom flexes his fingers harder into Billy's pockets, guiding them in a slightly different direction, and Billy lays his head back on Dom's shoulder. Their lips find each other on what seems like an accident—pink, wet slits vying for further entanglement._ _

__My eyes slip southwards again, and when I see Dom's fingers slip with a cunning, sudden motion from Billy's pocket to the space between his legs, I blush heavily and look away, realizing my heart is pounding._ _

__Realizing that Elijah has been watching, too._ _

__Our eyes meet over layers of cigarette smoke and noise; and I'm stuck for an embarrassing second in his stare. He's always done this kind of staring. I'm not even sure if he's aware of how he just looks until the person he's looking at squirms._ _

__His eyes wobble with mine, our line of sight almost a tangible thread connecting us, and the cigarette goes slowly between his lips—cheeks draw in—and then out again, tongue darting out to catch the taste on his lower lip. He exhales slowly, smoke trailing from his mouth and nostrils before he sets the cigarette down and looks away from me._ _

__Mentally turning to my subconscious, I nod—allowing myself to agree._ _

__

__I've got a couple beers in me and for the first time, he hasn't drank any more than I have. My head's swimming with the image of Dom and Billy writhing on the dance floor, with the smell of Elijah's clove cigarettes flooding my nose, with the mature look of possession he struck me with as I turned away._ _

__The important part, though, is that I'm quite sure he senses my giving in. It's in the way I walk at his side, maybe, relaxed and wanting to be closer. It's the way I look at him, thoughts racing ahead of my actions, wondering and hypothesizing and judging._ _

__On the porch, I turn my back to the house, bumping the wall lightly as I lean against it and burying my hands deep into my jacket pockets. He stands in front of me, mirroring my posture, a hesitant smile on his lips._ _

__"I never answered your question, the other night."_ _

__He blinks once and then slips his hands from his pockets._ _

__"Question?"_ _

__"You asked me what I think about," I answer, nodding._ _

__He blushes—and the combination of pale moonlight and that pink rush goes right down my body. And I'm nervous suddenly at the idea of maybe having to be the one to reach out and start it, that I'll look stupid or fumble, because I've never had a boy under my fingertips, and I don't know the differences—if any. I sure as hell can't picture what it might look like to other people, me doing the things I want to do to him._ _

__Eyes on his knees, I take a big shuddering breath and get ready to sound absolutely idiotic._ _

__"Think about…kissing you. Your mouth and—and I think about, being able to just reach out and touch you—all the time and… When you walk into a room I just…there's this dizzy sort of…between my ears."_ _

__Swallow; another breath; ignore the hot embarrassment rushing my face and neck._ _

__"It _hurts_ sometimes because I've never wanted something so—when it's that far away from everything you've ever needed."_ _

__His chest rises and falls funny, a breathy something or other filling his throat, which is all I can tell, because I'm still staring at his legs. I close my eyes; tingling from talking about it, hot from thinking about it, aroused from needing it. And I fantasize that he can sense this, that he's feeling it like a magnetic field around me._ _

__"Everything's changed now. It's all…reorganized, new priorities, and when you—when you kissed me the other night, I was…so alive, it was all over me, burning, I've never—"_ _

__"Sean," he exhales, as though all his insides have been wound up and desperate since the moment we started talking— _I can't…please stop, just stop, let me, let me, let me_. I open my eyes, daring to look at his face again._ _

__The space between us disappears and it's a blur; how he leans forward and his left hand wraps around the back of my neck, the soft pat of my coat on the side of the house as he presses me back into it, the quick breath he takes just before he closes his mouth over mine and swallows my exhale as it comes._ _

__There's a brief parting between two wet kisses; we both inhale quickly, the noise of moisture smacking just faintly, then drowning in the vast silence as he comes again, desperately seeking to deepen the kiss; driving out anything else I have in my head._ _

__He whimpers on another quick breath and the noise slivers down my belly, lodging its knotted torture there—and I don't know what to do, really, besides what is instinctive. I wrap my arms around his waist, hating the thick leather of his jacket._ _

__There's a moment when we pull back and I sense his lips parting, so I drop my bottom lip too, and when we sink forward his tongue fills the space between my lips. I feel a twitch between my thighs, feel the cloth there seem to constrict._ _

__That tiny length of tongue curls, playing with mine, teasing it out, and the shivers trip like pulses on a flatline down my spine—down my legs—squeezing somewhere in the center. And I realize that I'm doing it, that I can have it, that it doesn't matter, and the reality fills my head, hollow bubbles making me giddy._ _

__It's impossible to describe what it feels like, his tongue flicking and rubbing mine— _squirming solid velvet dampness_ —his lips sucking my tongue greedily into his own mouth, his teeth nipping on my bottom lip every three or four kisses._ _

__Out of breath, he lets go, his hand on my neck passing idle strokes in the short hair at the nape of my neck, his body nestled into all the right curves of mine, one of his thighs wedged between my knees— _how did we get like this?__ _

__His hot forehead touches mine and the intimacy of our bodies—he's like looking at something that's far too bright and beautiful too be seen that close-up—makes my belly squirm and makes the need to shove his jacket off his shoulders and bring up the warmth everywhere on his skin flood my brain._ _

__" _Stay with me_ …"_ _

__"Tonight?"_ _

__He kisses me again—squish, smack, flick as it recedes._ _

__"Every night…" His lips stray, dotting the corner of my mouth, leaving an exhale and moisture on my jaw, teeth sinking gently on my throat as they nuzzle, seeking lower targets, pushing at the collar of my jacket. "All night…" He's sure of it now, won't let it go, and I can feel the resolve, his lips taking a patch of skin and sucking until it hurts, until I know there's a mark. His knee works my thighs apart, sliding into that private space, pressing with careful aim the rock-hard awareness. "Need this…"_ _

__My pulse flowers up hard and double-time everywhere, threatening to spill out my ears and eyes, making me shake. I groan something unintelligible, fingers sliding between the barriers of cloth, finding the texture difference between leather and cotton, feeling the heat trapped under his coat and nearly moaning because it's a proof and promise, and I push the offending thing back, hearing it pool uselessly on the cement._ _

__He shrugs at the same time, helping, and it's hard to see all of him at once—the details seem to jump out when we're like this—but I look anyway, the light glowy and blinding through the ruffled mess of his hair, his face like sculpted cream as he turns to claim my mouth again._ _

__Flushed and aching, I move back into the low rhythm of his kisses and his squirming, his knee purposeful and sure, rubbing higher, working my cloth-covered erection. The hand that was on my neck is now on the wall behind me; his free hand pushes back my coat, making it fall away, then charges back, determined, squeezing down my front, claiming the side of my hip._ _

__I feel those hot, quick fingers a moment later, seeking my arm, my wrist, and finally my hand, bringing it in between us, not knowing why just then, because nothing above my neck seems to be working. His face falls to my neck as he puts my hand over the tight bulge of denim that throbs with a low heat between his legs. I feel a shudder go through his breath and body as he closes his hand over mine, squeezing softly. I take a second—nervous, excited, nervous, excited, flopping like alternating heartbeats._ _

__"Now, please," he sighs into my ear, fingers going lax, and then pressing again._ _

__"I've never—"_ _

__"I know." Again: relax- _close_. "Doesn't matter."_ _

__He kisses me again, and I shift away just a little sooner than he'd like._ _

__" _Mmph_ …what if I don't—"_ _

__He gives a breathy chuckle, steps backwards, and pulls me towards the doorway in a smooth motion. Once the door is wedged open, he slides his arms around my neck, nuzzling his nose to mine, and kissing me damply. "Not too concerned with that…"_ _

__We get tangled again, nearly falling over an end table, stifling a mad giggle over the fact, recovering; shoes and socks kicked off into the darkness of the living room. His fingers go for the hem of my shirt, teasing the skin just under it as I lead us down the long, dark hall. Moonlight stripes the hall from behind half-open doors and windows, streaking his face in opposite time with our steps as we move back._ _

__Near the bedroom, his touch grazes with the quality of a static tingle along my back, taking my shirt with it. The room is cold on my hot skin and a flush comes up in my ears as he darts to kiss my shoulder, my collarbone, fingers quick on the button and zipper of my jeans. He needs more._ _

__I step out of the pants, keenly feeling the rake of his fingertips up the flats of my thighs, leaving momentary red marks on my belly as they smear upwards. I catch his mouth again, messily, barely getting it on target, tongue and teeth grappling with the fleshy wealth of his bottom lip—sucking it sucking it squeezing it between my teeth and he shudders._ _

__We bunk into the bed and he somehow manages to clamber backwards onto it on his knees without disturbing our position. I slide on after him, slowly undoing the buttons down the front of his shirt, taking pleasure in the inches of warmth revealed, and shivering through and through when I'm presented with the task of curling my palms around his shoulders to push it away._ _

__He closes his eyes, shivering as I pass my brown fingers along his neck on other side, caressing and memorizing, pressing and loving, cupping his jaw, down again to his shoulders, squeezing thumbs down the slant of a collarbone. And back up again, fingertips so reverent in their path that I should feel silly, grazing his ears, pinching the earlobes there, like tiny patches of silk, sinking my fingers through the hair at the back of his head, watching him shiver and watching the goosebumps come up._ _

__Cradling his head, I lean in and kiss him, worry over that particular part long forgotten, and these kisses are gentle, tiny imitations of presses on every inch of that up-turned, parted mouth. He seems mesmerized, wobbling faintly as I go on like this, playing with it—running the tip of my tongue slowly along the seam between his lips, letting him take my bottom lip, and then I take his, and then again with our top lips—drops of arousal plinking on a surface of glass and spreading, spreading, trickling._ _

__I stop because I need to breathe and he looks at me drowsily. The wet slits of his eyes reveal an engrossed focus, and his hands run up my back, bringing me close._ _

__"God…"_ _

__"So perfect," I sigh—forgetting myself, lost in him, so fucking far-gone that it doesn't matter._ _

___You'll never know what you do to me_._ _

__I smooth my hands down his sides, loving the pattern of goosebumps, loving to trace the flares of warmth to their source. I slide the metal button on his jeans free of its closure and then try as subtly as I can to work the zipper down—I should be familiar with this, but it's all funny and odd from the other end._ _

__He knees out of the pants, kicking the denim away. His arms come up again and I think with maniacally focus that his hands are very small. His palms are damp and soft and they skim loving tracks all down my back and sides and arms, playing thumbs just at the line of my belly, bringing up that ticklish sensation again and again._ _

__But there's something about holding him flat up against me and feeling his skin and heartbeat and just gripping him—it's the possessive urge again, I guess. Because I love this; this _we-can't-get-any-closer_ ; this _it's-on-down-hill-from-here_. _ _

__So my knees go gradually numb because I don't want to let go. I could go on kissing him and holding him this way forever, knees be damned, as long as his hands keep squeezing and testing pressures all down my back. And when he first dares to go farther and smooth his fingers around my backside—I'm not ready for it and I jump a little, fingers stopping and giving a tremble._ _

__I feel his low giggle on my neck as he kisses there. "Mmm."_ _

__Close my eyes, take a deep breath, and give a self-depreciating smile. He seems to feel that, his cheek on mine a moment later, hands squeezing lower, harder, just a little less subtle—I shudder again, but it's more controlled._ _

__I feel the soft licks and kisses of his mouth down the center of my chest as far as our position allows, his fingers turning circles on the sides of my hips, teasing the waistband of my boxers and finally slipping just underneath._ _

__Quick intake of breath and his kisses find their way back to my mouth, taking advantage of my parted lips by claiming a deeper kiss. His fingers splay around the skin of my hips, pushing the elastic waistband off my skin._ _

__"Can I…?" he murmurs at the last second. I nod rapidly, heart in my throat, wondering why I'm not self-conscious. And then I process that it's not possible to feel that—even though this is slow, it's also overwhelming and feels like it's speeding along ahead of me. I'm numb to the reality because I'm so taken by it as it happens that I can't put it in perspective. It's better that way, because—_ _

__I help him to remove my last bit of clothing, face burning finally when I notice how he stares, his eyes glazed over with something I can't identify. To distract myself, I move to return the favor, running the tip of my forefinger around the inside of the band, feeling where it has left indents in his skin. He shifts, lifting his leg, half-standing for a second, and then they're gone, too, and—there we are._ _

__I close my eyes for a moment, falling into another long kiss. But when he moves to bring us together again, it's not possible to ignore the feeling of him—stomach, hardness, legs, faint tickle of the hair on them, _oh my God_._ _

__A blush spills over his cheeks—a highlight of arousal—and I nudge our mouths together, tipping my fingertips down his back and rubbing them over the curve of his backside, feeling the muscle there clench responsively. Smiling and overcome with another rush of heat, he stirs against my stomach, the length of him becoming pinned between our bellies, while I'm tucked more downward towards the juncture of his thighs._ _

__Suppressing a grin, I pull back, eyes roaming his face._ _

__"Elijah…"_ _

__"Mm?"_ _

__"…I can't feel my legs."_ _

__Giggling, he leans on me, head flopping on my shoulder. He unfolds his legs out from under himself, falling back onto his backside and then sprawling towards the pillows. Blinking, I pan slowly up his body— _nudity is such an open, trusting intimacy_ —and scoot down next to him. He rolls over as soon as I'm comfortable, an arm falling around my side, lips quick and eager on my upper arm._ _

__I tease his side with a caress, the nervous feeling coming back, knowing what I'd like to do but not how to start. He smiles and lays flat again, my hand shifting with the movement from his hip to his lower stomach. He kisses the hair next to my temple, and I'm sweating there but it doesn't bother him._ _

__It sticks in my head, this; me on my side, arm under my pillow, other arm on him, him on his back, peering up at me, dark hair lined around the edges by the white pillow under his head. I pass my knuckles softly along his chest and stomach, thousands of times over it seems, gently pressing each nipple that I pass out of sheer instinct. It makes him blush again and I smile, feeling silly as I bend to press my lips to the hardened peak. His fingers tighten encouragingly on my hair, a sigh coming up in his chest lost there._ _

__I let the wet, distracted kissing take over, my tongue lapping circles around each smudge of darker flesh. When I claim his mouth again, he pushes back into me, chin nudging mine, tongue drawing in and out with a curl-edged tease that sends my blood roaring through my ears._ _

__My fingertip dances a circle around his belly button and I flatten my hand, pressing there, liking to feel his breath as he draws it, liking the feel of his flat belly. I realize I've taken to peering down at my hand where I'm touching him. His face buries against the side of my turned-away cheek, rubbing and nuzzling._ _

__He sighs right into my ear, making me shiver. "Don't stop…"_ _

__My fingers part at the middle, two on either side of his blood-hardened arousal, my thumb rubbing the skin under it absently. He shudders, making a chesty noise in my ear again. I feel him lick his lips. His hips shift a little, thighs apart. I wrap my hand around him carefully—silk-covered steel, burning with a low flush of repetitive flame. I sigh; turn my head, catch his lips as I begin, closing my fist around him and stroking from tip to base._ _

__A glance: his eyes are closed, eyelashes shivering in the dimness of the room, face aglow because of its color, repeated motif of blush-rose brushed like powder across his forehead and cheeks. Tension creates indented lines across his forehead. His chin tilts up, lips ever ready for another kiss. But mostly he's caught up and transfixed and needs release and he can't think farther than that._ _

__Days go by; I loose track, because it doesn't matter. My wrist gets tired pretty quickly, but that doesn't matter, either. I work him the way I might myself, but pay attention for the tiny changes he likes, using the dribbles of lubrication coming from him to dampen my grip. He squirms and then goes still for long moments, reacting and coming down depending on each change in speed and pressure. I've never seen someone so totally given over to their own pleasure as his as._ _

__My excitement rises along with his when he comes close. He starts to shift around more, hands picking new spots to rest, then choosing new placement all over again. His neck tightens up, chest halting now and then. His bottom lip falls and lifts, nostrils quiver. The pink on his face becomes red on his neck and cheeks, and low, throaty noises of restraint crest and die behind his lips._ _

__I lower my mouth to his—he doesn't have the concentration to kiss me back, but he feels it, and shudders. There's a fine sheen of dampness over his forehead and I can feel him trying to control his breathing as I kiss him._ _

___Let go._ _ _

__I close my eyes. He starts to breathe erratically— _squeeze squeeze slow swivel_ —and I go faster, rolling my wrist around as well as up and down, giving that extra press around the tip at the end. And soon my hand is blur, speed unchecked, anything to make him keep whimpering the way he's whimpering now, cheeks and throat convulsing with each noise, his free hand digging into my arm._ _

___Don't let go!_ _ _

__" _Sean_ …"_ _

__"Mmm…"_ _

__" _Can't_ —"_ _

__He stares up towards the ceiling and I kiss the soft inner curve of his ear just as his shoulders tense and lift, his fingers readjusting their grip on my arm. A desperate, rushed moan explodes once from his chest—hovers there in the air, dies, and gets picked up and carried the rest of the way by a shivering riff of gasp-breaths as he comes over my fist, shaking and beet-red._ _

__I kiss down his neck, smiling to myself, not minding the sticky dampness at all. I sort of like it, even, as I smear it idly over him in the process of squeezing the last bits of whimper from him._ _

__When it comes down to a bearable note again, we both relax and clean up the mess. The sheets just under him stick to his damp skin and he feels the temperature change as I do. Eyes still closed and his hand tangled in my hair, he grumbles a low, satisfied sigh._ _

__"Oh my God," he drawls with a heavy tinge of humor, and then he laughs, ruffling his hair in the process of smoothing it back away from his forehead._ _

__"That more or less covers it," I whisper back, laying my head on his chest._ _

__"Are you sure this is…"_ _

__"Mmm," I hum lightly, wrapping an arm around him. "Yes."_ _

__That's all he needs for the moment._ _

__Several moments later when I think he must be falling asleep, he nudges my front. I roll over onto my side and he tucks into my front, kissing me in a lingering fashion._ _

__"Master Samwise…"_ _

___I love the I-mean-business tone_._ _

__"Yeees?"_ _

__"A problem has—" He kisses my nose lightly. "—arisen between us."_ _

__I laugh and blush all at once, aware of having gotten hard just from laying there staring at him for the past ten minutes, but not exactly know what to say in response to that._ _

__"Have something to add to what I think about," he informs casually as he presses me onto my back, flopping half on top of me._ _

__"Oh?"_ _

__Smiling and nodding, he drops a loud kiss on my chest and then leans up, sprawling his boyish body over mine, lips on my brow. "Watching you squirm…watching your eyes. Did'y'know that your eyes get all green when you're excited?"_ _

__I blush and stare for the millionth time tonight._ _

__He rubs his body along mine, a bit of friction catching my erection as it presses between our bellies. He kisses the length of my jaw to my ear, thighs sinking between my legs, shoulders and arms braced around mine. "When you look at me with that focused stare—it does things to me."_ _

__"I never thought it was that obvious," I sigh, already distracted, already hot again._ _

__"You have no idea," he counters, but I can tell his thoughts are elsewhere—keeping mine company, more specifically. He kisses me, one hand sliding firmly down my hip and along my thigh, tugging it up near the back of the knee so that it's against his waist. He presses forward slowly between my thighs. "You feel so fucking good."_ _

__He takes the better part of an hour to torture me; kissing his way down and up my body dozens of times, attempting to banish my silent fear that the weight I'm carrying for Sam is unbecoming—and also as if reinforcing how long he's waited._ _

__When he finally finds me throbbing and heavy with his damp palms and eager mouth, I think I might come undone straight away. My hands travel from the sheets to his neck to his hair and shoulders and back again, stomach quivering, muscles vibrating with a feeble underscore._ _

__I force it back as long as I can, losing track of the minutes as the ebb by, the painful knot drawing tighter and tighter, entirely at his command. He stops from moment to moment to look at me, eyes falling with fixation on my face. Then it starts again, his eyes disappearing, the heat of his stare replaced by the heat of his bobbing, tight mouth._ _

__"Lijah…"_ _

__He draws his cheeks in harder; the noisy suckle plays hell on my nerves._ _

__" _Oh ghh_ —"_ _

__His fist curls, whipping a sudden stroke that makes me choke on my breath and draws my hands into tight clenches._ _

__"I—"_ _

__But he doesn't pull away and that makes it happen faster—I'm going to—his mouth—_ _

__White-hot blankness floods the dark behind my eyelids when it riptides through my stomach and legs, taking all my strength with it. I feel completely disconnected from the planet for about ten seconds._ _

__Shuddering and laboring under the fine, trembling rebellion of all my lesser muscles, I close my eyes, going limp against the sheets. He curls up on my stomach, licking his bottom lip. We lay that way, cooling off all over again in delicious silence._ _

__Drier after the pause, he slides up my body, the edge of a blanket in one hand. He tugs it up around us, nudging me to shift over, which I do. Smiling, my arms go for him; craving nothing more than to have him in reach, just this way, every day hereafter._ _

__

__It isn't real until morning. It isn't real until it's over and complete and I can review it from start to finish. It isn't real until I see him slide out of bed to use the bathroom, illuminated fantastically by the morning sun. It isn't real until he comes back, managing to look like a boy even now, like this, striding through the sunlight-shade-sunlight-shade until he's back under the covers with me._ _

__It's Sunday morning and I'm irrevocably in love._ _

__It aches just the way they say it should; it brims just the way I've known it to._ _

__We're tangled and sun-kissed and careless, halfway to letting last night happen all over again. But he pulls away, sprawling comfortably at the last second, only to curl up against my chest again. I lay my chin on his hair, eyes trained on the fantastic morning just outside our window._ _

__He looks up at me, touching my cheek to get my attention. There's a sudden seriousness in his eyes and I guess it's because he's been watching me think and maybe he's worried._ _

__"Mm?"_ _

__"Don't want to start getting all paranoid, here, but."_ _

__I pause. "No, it's. I mean, it makes sense. We'd need to talk about it."_ _

__He nods. "Are you. You know, okay? Not going to start getting all weird on me."_ _

__"No," I say, smiling. "No, I—I've gotten out all my weirdness, I think."_ _

__"How long have you…?"_ _

__I smooth my fingertips through his hair, sighing with remembering it. "Since the moment I saw you from across that lobby."_ _

__He nods again, looking relieved. "I know. God, I know. Sean, this is insane. I don't know how to explain it."_ _

__"Don't need to explain," I reply, smiling playfully. "I know."_ _

__"Do you? I mean, it's more than—"_ _

__"I _know_ ," I insist, my hand feeling the invisible sheen of baby-soft hair at the dip of his lower back. He goes silent, warm and relaxed under my exploration. Ten minutes go by before he speaks again. And when he does, he just says it._ _

__"I may be in love with you." _I've come to love you so hard and so fast that it can't be natural_._ _

__I close my eyes. I let the words travel secret, heavily trodden paths under my skin until I'm sure that I'll remember every detail of the room at the very moment when he first said those words._ _

___Danger._ _ _

___Well, of course. We've established that by now. It doesn't matter._ _ _

___None of it?_ _ _

___No. Because I feel the same way. And no matter what path that takes us down, I want it._ _ _

__My subconscious goes blessedly silent._ _

__"I may love you back," I say, mimicking his tone, still staring towards the window._ _

__I look down at him, daring to offer a smile. He shifts his head, propping his chin up on my chest, eyes on mine for several long seconds before he returns the smile with a tiny nod. I find myself nodding back— _controlled excitement_ —and shuffling the sheets up around his shoulders._ _

__He tightens his arms around my sides, laces his legs with mine, and finally turns his face away from the bright sunlight as it fans its powerful glow through the slats of the blinds, a smile lingering in his eyes._ _


End file.
